Ranger Guardian

“I think I’ve been honest enough.”

“Oh, that’s a relief.” She crossed her arms in typical Barlow fashion, after her sarcasm had a chance to sink in.

“It’s going to be a long night, isn’t it,” he said. Fact, not a question. Just like he knew they were stepping outside into the backyard to have an extended argument once they got home.

“We both need to really think about your expectations for me. This is serious, Heath. I... It’s not something I can take lightly and just forget that it happened.”

“I’m sorry for jumping the gun.” Apologizing was the easy part. Understanding what he did wrong would take a little longer.

* * *

SIX WEEKS OF continuous arguing began to take its toll on her family. Kendall sat at her office desk staring at the picture of Heath carrying Skylar Dawn on his shoulders. She missed him. Ached for him. Longed for someone to invent a time machine so she could take back the words she didn’t even know if she meant any more.

Just when Kendall thought things were getting better, her mother overheard Heath say he didn’t understand why her work was more important than a family.

She didn’t know which hurt worse—what he’d said or the fact he had talked to someone else and not her. He’d always been the strong silent type. Definitely a man of action and few words.

When Skylar Dawn complained of tummy aches, Kendall suggested counseling. If they couldn’t communicate on their own, maybe a third party could help.

She’d never forget the stabbing pain she’d experienced when he said, “My world has pretty much crashed down around my ears by not keeping my mouth shut.” To keep from hurting their daughter, Heath packed a bag. He made a drastic, solitary decision.

If he was gone...they couldn’t argue. So to solve the problem he moved into the spare room of Slate Thompson’s house on a small ranch just east of Dallas. He worked in the barn and helped with riding lessons to pay his rent.

Or at least that’s what she thought. They hadn’t really spoken since.

They seemed to avoid each other by staying busy with their jobs. But he never failed to call Skylar Dawn at six each evening. When her caseload picked up, he stayed at the house two nights a week.

Her mother had objected to her marriage from the beginning. For some reason, her encouragement had always been for a career. Not necessarily the FBI, just something with a title and advancement.

“How did we get this far down the rabbit hole? Yeah... Where’s that time machine when you need it?”

Chapter One (#u43a5c463-b15d-50aa-8b84-b8575b798de3)

Heath Murray was feeling just how crowded the small house he lived in had become. He slipped away to the rodeo every weekend, attempting to give Slate some privacy. But, man, come Sunday nights he needed to rest his weary old bones on a soft couch.

He needed to pop the top on a bottle of beer, prop his feet up on the coffee table and listen to sports while he drifted off into blissful slumber.

That never happened.

He didn’t mind having his partner’s mom cook. Saved him the trouble of constantly eating out. He didn’t mind having Slate’s new girlfriend sneak back up to the main house after not catching the front door before it slammed shut at four in the morning. Neither of them knew he hadn’t really slept in months.

He didn’t mind returning to his real bed twice a week to spend time with his baby girl. Skylar Dawn loved it. Kendall tolerated it. They both agreed it was better than the nights he didn’t see their daughter at all.

He could deal with all that. He’d been dealing with it for almost six months. But this...

“Dammit, guys. Do you always have to be making out when I open the door?”

“Oh, man. Is it already five? I’m supposed to go see my brother tonight. I should go get ready.” Vivian Watts, his roommate’s girlfriend, tugged her T-shirt to her waist, making sure it was in place. She gave Slate a quick kiss and ran past Heath.

“Thanks for making her feel bad,” Slate said.

“Don’t mention it.” Yeah, he was being sarcastic. Yeah, he didn’t mean to be. Hell, maybe he did. His attitude sucked, and his side hurt. The bronc he’d been thrown from had kicked his ribs. The skin had begun turning colors before he’d started for home.

“Well, I sort of am.” Slate took his hands from his back pockets and crossed his arms in a move of determination. “You know she’s had a really hard time lately. They told her it’s going to be at least another six weeks before they’ll think about clearing her brother to leave the center.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it and I’ll apologize.” He would. He’d probably screw up again, though. “Maybe it’s time for me to find my own place?”

“That’s not what you need to do,” Slate said with a certain look on his face.

The same frustrated look his friends and fellow Rangers had at least once a week. Maybe even a little more often. Like each time they tried to get him to open up about his situation with his wife. Yet if he couldn’t talk about it with her, he shouldn’t talk about it with his friends. Their separation was a private matter.

“You, me, Wade and Jack are tight. We’re more than just Rangers, and we’re more than friends. We’re brothers. We’ve got each other’s backs. I’m telling you the truth. You should call her,” Slate urged.

“I will. Tuesday.”

“You are such a stubborn son of a...cowboy.”

At that, Heath tipped his hat off his head and let the Stetson flip into his hand. A trick his little girl loved.

“You better head on out if you’re going to catch Vivian and drive her to her brother’s.”

“Call your wife, man. Make up. It’s been six months, for crying out loud. Tell her you don’t think your job is more important than hers.”

“You don’t think I’ve told her? I haven’t ever lied to her. I thought she knew that. But for some reason she still can’t believe me.” He pulled a beer from the refrigerator, glancing at the plastic containers full of home-cooked meals. He was too sore to eat.

“Dammit, Heath.” Slate stuck a ball cap on his head. “Think hard about what you’re willing to give up.” He stomped to the door and slammed it shut behind him.

Alone.

It was how he liked it. Right?

“Right,” he spoke out loud and tipped the beer he’d wanted for the past hour between his lips and swallowed.

Another couple of minutes, and he could call Skylar Dawn before Kendall put her in the bathtub. She was almost four years old, and it had been six months since he’d destroyed any chance at a normal father-daughter relationship.

He went through the motions, just like he did every night. Nothing there comforted him like it had when he was married. There was no one to talk to about the bronc ramming him in half.

No one to joke with about the young women hanging around the edge of the stalls. Or how he’d felt too old to notice. But they’d had fun with their wolf calls when he’d bent over and showed his backside. Kendall had gotten a kick out of coming up and laying a big, luscious kiss on him when that had happened before.

That had been before she’d gotten pregnant and the barn smell had made her nauseous.

Another sip of beer. It was almost gone, and he wanted another.

Was this what life was going to be like? Waiting around while Kendall—and her mother—made all the decisions about their life? He’d been ready for months to talk with her and apologize again. He just wanted their old life back.

Was that even possible?

Completely aware that pressure against his side would be painful, he went back into the kitchen, filled a couple of sandwich bags with ice, wrapped them in a towel and shoved it against his ribs.